


Infectious

by wolfmanwrites



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfmanwrites/pseuds/wolfmanwrites
Summary: House tries to fix his leg. Using lycanthropy.





	Infectious

**Author's Note:**

> After nine months of sitting on this fic I'm not saying that it's good, but I am saying that it's done.

_Though lycanthropy appears to be primarily a genetic affliction, there have been recorded cases of its spread through bodily fluids, chiefly saliva. Though the affliction does not always take, appearing to differ by method of communication. Bites or transmission via saliva are the most common in cultural portrayals, but appear to be the least effective in proliferating the condition. There have been occasions where blood has been the vehicle for transmission. These cases often result in an illness from rejection, though some people have been known to have become afflicted, though others have succumbed to the disease. There is little to no evidence for sexual transmission, but it must be considered a possible danger._

 

***

 

It hadn’t been a simple acquisition but House had his ways and contacts, both in the drug world and the medical one, so in the end he had a few Lycanthrope blood “samples” at his disposal. He was up to date on all of the research and knowledge of them, especially a fairly recent study that had particularly piqued his interest. Which is why he wanted those “samples” in the first place. Of course Lycanthropy was an incredibly interesting disease, it’s ability to so completely change the infected was impressive enough that it was nearly House’s second area of expertise.

 

Three small vials, more than enough based on the known information. It was made easier by his own blood type, AB+ made it unnecessary to find a proper match and he hoped that it would further work in his favor by being less likely to reject the disease. The cannula was already in place in his left arm, a syringe ready to draw the blood from the vials. House took a deep breath as he emptied each vial, all three now filling the syringe. There was almost certainly no going back after this and this? This was stupid, even for House, but if it worked _if it worked_ it could mean everything.

 

_Slowly_ , this had to be done slowly to reduce destruction of the blood cells, a drip would have been best, but no reason to start doing things right at this stage. Immediately there was a tingle, a burn, but he could handle that, drugs did that too. Nearly a third injected, he kept his breathing and hands steady, focusing on the pressure of the syringe, not the fire in his arm. It would get worse, soon he knew it would begin to really reach his heart, from there the rest of his body. _Focus_ , just over half-way when he could feel it spread out from his chest, the heat starting to increase through his body. There were only a few scant milliliters left when couldn’t maintain the even pressure any longer, he pushed the last of the blood faster than was smart and started searching for the gauze on the table. House pulled the tape off, pressing the cotton into place as he pulled the cannula free with his teeth.

 

House was covered in a sheen of sweat, his breath no longer steady but coming in gasps. He shook, a spasm sometimes wracking his body. The infected blood was searing through his veins, each heartbeat was a pulse felt throughout his entire body. Rational thought was gone, his mind quickly overcome by the fever, leaving him to sink into a fitful darkness.

 

* * *

 

There had been a note, _he had even left a note_ , in case Wilson came in, it even said that, instructing him not to take him to the hospital or anywhere else. The note didn’t mention anything about what House had done to himself, but the bloodied cannula on the floor, the empty syringe on the table, three empty vials. It was enough evidence for Wilson to know that House was an ass with no sense of self preservation. The drugs would kill him one day, but he just hoped that this wasn’t that day.

 

All Wilson could do was move him to his bed. For all that he seemed comatose he was also running a fever. Until his status changed there wasn’t much Wilson could do besides keep an eye on him, often placing a cool, damp cloth on the man’s forehead. Often times when it came to House the only thing Wilson could do was wait for it to work it’s course, doing what he could to make sure his friend didn’t die in the mean time.

 

It wasn’t until nearly noon that House finally woke up and Wilson just passed a glass of water and a couple of Vicodin to him. After he took them he muttered something about marrying him and fell back to sleep. He watched his sleeping friend for a little while longer, his slumber no longer so complete, so effective at miming death. Satisfied House wasn’t going to die in the next half hour, Wilson took the opportunity to quickly shower, he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, not with House in this state.

 

***

 

Even though he had only just woken up there was a bone deep fatigue, he couldn’t even sit up without Wilson’s help. When his friend offered him something through a straw he couldn’t have refused if he had really wanted to. House knew the features of the disease, that Lycanthropy took a heavy toll on the body during its early stages. The afflicted often died if they didn’t have access to a high nutrient diet, the disease caused the body to pull nutrients from wherever it needed. As much as he accused Wilson of being too health conscious, it would be incredibly useful. He had vitamins stashed for this, but they were so uncharacteristic that Wilson would have immediately known something was up.

 

Soon enough Wilson was helping him up, practically carrying him for all the weight he was taking so that House could go to the bathroom. Then he helped him to the couch. If he was going to fade in and out of consciousness he would at least be able to watch TV while he was awake.

 

It was clear that Wilson was frustrated with him for nearly killing himself again, but he seemed subdued by how sick House actually was. The burning had stopped by the time he had woken up, though he was still feverish. Everything had a deep ache that wasn't stopped by the Vicodin, though with everything else hurting his thigh was thankfully forced into the background. He was still faintly trembling and incredibly weak. Wilson sat on the other end of the couch, letting House partially sprawl out on him, just watching him. He knew he'd get an ear full as soon as he stopped looking like he was about to die.

 

***

A few days later, when he looked more like someone getting over the flu than a plague patient, Wilson finally left to go back into work, giving House a very pointed look. He was able to move around on his own again, though he was still slow, still achey. Since his friend wasn’t there to see he finally dug out the supplements he had gotten and took one or two of everything. Wilson’s cooking was better than what he’d be eating otherwise, but if this worked out like he expected he would be recovering faster, hopefully noticeably healthier by night.

 

House must have been looking better because he recognized Wilson’s look as he set a bowl of wonton soup in front out him, laying out some more food, his favorites, on the table. Even if he ate slowly, he couldn’t stall forever. After a nap and a second round of vitamins he had been much more lucid so he didn’t think he would be able to just fall asleep and continue to avoid the conversation. He slowly chewed, trying to make it look thoughtful and not like the action still exhausted him. He’d been preparing for this conversation since he found himself in Wilson’s care, this was one more secret that Wilson couldn’t know.

 

“So what, you took a week off work to do what? Kill yourself? Or did you just plan on spending it high on whatever it is that nearly put you in a coma?”

 

_Check._ There was Wilson’s serious, quiet tone. The one that always asked why he had no self preservation.

 

“Why even bother with the cannula, huh? Blood doping was never your style House.”

 

_Check_. Wilson would have known exactly what he had been doing and that it wasn’t as simple as that. Now for the -

 

_Sigh._

 

Right. House could stay silent, leaving Wilson to keep starting and stopping, never going far enough to beat him around the head and shoulders like her probably wanted to. Instead, he’d offer up some truth.

 

“An experimental treatment.”

 

The dark, mirthless chuckle.

 

“What, give yourself the flu and probably a hemolytic reaction? Were you trying to treat being healthy?”

 

“You know my blood type.”

 

A huff, then he softened slightly. House still looked sick enough then.

 

“How long before you know if it does anything but try to kill you?”

 

_Beat_

 

“Not sure, could be up to a month.”

 

Wilson nodded, resigned. This was the end of the conversation tonight, but House still had hell to catch before this was finished.

 

***

 

He was running. For the first time in years, _he was running._ Where didn’t matter, nothing besides the feeling of feet pounding the earth, each step propelling him forward.

 

House woke up with a start, sweat beading up on his skin. Gasping with the pain of loss, the heart wrenching ache of what he couldn’t have. He let himself fall back, resigning himself to staring at the ceiling in the dark until he finally slept again. He rubbed at his thigh as if it would ease the ache of reality.

 

***

When House's week off was up Wilson had conceded that he was well enough to go back to the hospital. He couldn't keep an eye on him constantly, he had his own patients after all, but Wilson made sure to check in on House frequently.

 

There wasn't anything particularly noticeable that he hadn't been expecting. It took a couple days for House to seem back to normal and not look like he was recovering from a messy bout of the flu. If his fellows thought anything was up Wilson couldn't tell. At the end of the week when House made it clear he'd had enough mothering Wilson figured that he wasn't likely start showing any symptoms of whatever desperate gamble the "experimental treatment" had been.

 

House was becoming irritated at the fact that he hadn't seen any evidence of the infection beyond the aches and fever, which were standard for anyone who came in contact with Lycanthropy. There were two more weeks until the next full moon, when he would know for sure if this had just been a waste of time, effort, money, and vacation time. He knew that the physical changes from the disease were nearly impossible to discern until after the first transformation and that he should be glad that he hadn't died from his body rejecting the disease, but he wasn't known for his patience or willingness to be thankful for the small things.

 

* * *

 

_Though it was rarely recorded, it wasn't unheard of for those at risk of infection to face their initial transformation prior to the full moon. Though the moon seemed to have some effect on Lycanthropes that science still didn't fully understand those who had survived their first transformation, no matter when it occurred, were generally capable of transforming freely after that._

 

House was, of course, an irregular case. In preparation he had ensured that he had the day following the full moon off, if he had succeeded he would need the time to recover. If he had failed, well he could use the time to drink until his legs were numb. This, of course, didn't do him much good.

 

He was bringing in groceries, actual groceries and not just frozen pizza and beer. Hunger was a big factor in the transformations. They took a lot of energy and not having food at his disposal would certainly have consequences. He had read about the cases where the afflicted had woken up, or not, only to find they had eaten pets, trash, their own limbs. If he wanted to survive tomorrow night with what was left of his leg even he could acknowledge that preparation was in order.

 

It was simple, his hands full and legs unsteady. His already precarious balance thrown off and then pain shooting through his leg as he hit the ground. Then it changed from an electric jolt to a bone deep ache, spreading through his body. There was a part of his brain, detached from the pain, that was cataloging, scientifically, the different sensations of being torn apart and being knit back together. He realized why the physical characteristics of Lycanthropy were so hard to see before the transformation, they occurred quite quickly over the agonizing moments it took to shift from man to beast rather than during the weeks prior.

 

* * *

 

When House didn’t show up on time, well, it was normal. When he didn’t show up at his usual hour of lateness, it was odd. When he didn’t show up at all? Wilson couldn’t stop the beginnings of worry in his mind. After several calls throughout the day to remind him that _no_ his day off was tomorrow and no response, well, even Cuddy was wondering about it to some degree.

 

Wilson, of course, went straight to House’s apartment when he left the hospital. Whatever he expected after unlocking the door and walking in, it wasn’t spoiling groceries on the kitchen floor or a completely nude House softly snoring on the couch. Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“House.”

 

Louder then.

 

 

When he still didn’t budge Wilson moved closer to gently shake him by the shoulder. This at least had the effect of pulling some sleepy noises from the man. Wilson finally gave up on him for the moment, figuring that whatever House had done to cause this was probably going to be slow to recover from. Instead he took a closer look around the apartment. House’s cane was in the kitchen, having fallen near the spilled groceries. A closer look at the groceries revealed that much of it had been eaten, and clearly not by a human being. Wilson looked for any other signs of an animal, only finding a torn up band shirt and jeans. Wilson was an intelligent man and rather feared that he might also soon be a murderer if House had been as idiotic as he feared.

 

 

_Despite being offered some rights and protections in the laws since their rediscovery, Lycanthropes are still often viewed with fear and prejudice. Though there is no legal distinction, it is still a commonly held view that they are more animal than man, making the affliction a closely guarded secret. Though it is punishable for a Lycanthrope to refuse registration of their condition many of the afflicted hide their fact of their condition for as long as they are able in order to avoid the taboo associated with it._

 

 

When House did finally wake up Wilson refused to talk to him until he had gotten dressed. Seated again on the couch, now fully clothed, House was unsure exactly what turn this conversation was going to take. Would Wilson blame drugs and alcohol or did he already have him figured out.

 

“Are you as much of an idiot as I think you are or did you go on one hell of a bender last night?”

 

Right. Wilson had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

 

When he didn’t answer, Wilson sighed again, “House, you realize that when you register they’re going to ask how you caught it. Are you planning on telling them that you injected yourself with it?”

 

Right. Wilson had him _completely_ figured out.

 

“Wasn’t planning on telling them anything actually.”

 

Another sigh, a huffy one at that.“Of course you’ll refuse to register.” complete with eye roll, “How are you going to explain this all? Your fellows will have you figured out in a few months and Cuddy isn’t an idiot.”

 

House shrugged.

 

“God House, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.” Wilson was staring him pointedly in the eyes. “Was it at least worth it?"

 

House realized that he didn't know if his thigh hurt or not. After sleeping on the couch like that it should have been on fire and he wasn't sure where his cane was, probably in the kitchen with his dropped groceries. He certainly hadn't needed it to get to his room for clothes.

 

He met Wilson’s eyes again and gave him a wolfish grin.


End file.
